


Hero of the Free

by FluffyKasady



Series: Red, White and Blue, with You Too [2]
Category: Marvel
Genre: Fluff, Fluffy Misunderstandings, Gen, Misunderstandings, Reader is Aromantic, Reader is Nonbinary, Steve Rogers Is Bi, Steve needs help, Steve thinks You've been flirting, You have not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-28 05:26:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19387411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffyKasady/pseuds/FluffyKasady
Summary: Steve is pretty sure you're just being friendly, that's just who you are. But... he has to be sure.





	Hero of the Free

**Author's Note:**

> a sequel to the first Steve & Reader! this time with fluffy misunderstandings lol
> 
> enjoy!!

He’d essentially made Wednesday the day he spent his morning walk headed to the young person’s coffee shop. You were… he was enamored with the simple way you spoke, and the absolute lack of hero worship. You knew who he was, he’d asked after his fourth visit and you’d laughed, delighted. At what, he still wasn’t exactly sure.

“Sure, Cappy America. Hero of the Free and Bitch of the Brave!” you’d declared, hand up in a mock salute, and though others might have seen it as mocking he’d just laughed harder than he had in years and nodded his agreement. You’d grinned, triumphant, and then told him to wait while you whipped him up some new concoction. He’d liked it, like always. You had some kind of magic with taste and flavors, he was pretty sure.

Every Wednesday, at 8 am on the dot, he was through the shop doors and you always greeted him with the same delighted “Hey Steve!” It made him feel… special, almost. More than crowds chanting his name ever had. It felt like someone actually cared, actually  _ cared  _ about  _ him  _ and not just the star on his chest.

But then that rose some questions, after he’d had time to think about it all. You were very kind to him, always seemed to look forward to seeing him, and never failed to greet him with a smile and work your hardest to find him something he’d enjoy. There was even one morning he came in and you’d given him the first of a fresh batch of chocolate chip, caramel drizzled brownies. They were his favorite, he’d mentioned as much during one of his weekly visits.

It made him wonder some things, how you acted around him. It’d been 70 or so years since he’d been with anyone in any kind of sense, romantic or sexual, but honest to God he was not at all sure what he was supposed to interpret from the signals you were giving off.

It was highly, and  _ most  _ likely that you were just a friendly and kind soul, that you genuinely liked and cared about him as a friend.

But there was also the distinct possibility that you’d been…  _ flirting _ , this whole time, and Steve… Steve wasn’t… he wasn’t interested in a relationship like that. Sure he likes you, he enjoyed spending time with you, but he wasn’t ready to put himself in a situation where he had to put his emotions in danger of being hurt.

He’d dealt with that too many times before the damn war, he wasn’t about to jump into relationships now that he was big and tall and harassed every day. 

He’d decided to skip his run that morning, sitting at the island in the kitchen, spoon digging around in his oatmeal as he stared down at it with an unappetized grimace. It was his own fault it was bland and tasteless, he wasn’t used to all the new and fancy ingredients the tower had to offer (and a lot of them had been downright exotic back in the 40s, if they existed at all back then), so he hadn’t used any of it. Just oats, milk, butter, and a little spoonful of sugar.

It wasn’t surprising to find that it tasted about as good as a pile of mush, but again, it was his own fault. Maybe you could teach him how to make good oatmeal? But, just as the thought entered his head, he ruthlessly pushed it away. If it was a… a flirting thing, he didn’t want to encourage it by spending extra time with you, more than he already did. 

Really he just needed to talk to you, be up front and clear about his… inability to handle a relationship like that. If that was even your intentions at all.

Mind made up, and despite it being a Friday, he stood and dumped the rest of his oatmeal in a “tupperware” bowl, snapping the lid in place and putting it carefully in the fridge before hurrying to his room to change into his jogging clothes.

Large tee and track pants later and he was slipping into his jogging shoes, tying the laces with quick efficiency, and after pulling on his jacket and raising the hood, he was out the door and headed down the stairs.

“Farewell, Mr. Rogers. Please have a pleasant afternoon.” Jarvis’ voice called softly after him as he headed out the front doors, Steve glancing back with a grin as he gave the nearest ceiling camera a two fingered wave. 

It was a fast run to the shop, if the crowds weren’t too bad, and by the time he arrived he was pleasantly out of breath. The bell over the door jangled merrily as he went through, his eyes blinking at the change in light as he glanced around the room for you. He found you where he always did, behind the counter, handing another customer their coffee with a smile. He couldn’t help but notice that it wasn’t as big as the smile you gave him when you noticed he was there, or as bright. 

“Steve! Didn’t you already come by this week?” You waved him over nonetheless, gathering a large cup and the ingredients for something he was sure would be new and exotic to his 1940s taste buds. 

“So, wanna tell me why you’re over?” You called as you mixed black liquid and brown liquid, glancing over at him with a glint in your eye. He swallowed, gathering up what little courage he possessed for these kinds of things, and decided that being up front would be the best strategy.

“Have you been flirting with me?”

From the way you immediately started choking on air, beating on your chest as you turned to him with an incredulous expression, he realized that he’d made a mistake.

“W-what gave you that impression, Red White and Blue?” you asked, when you’d finally gotten your coughs back under control. He shrugged, feeling unbelievably sheepish under your stare, the silence lasting until you sighed.

“To answer your question, no, I haven’t been. I’m aro, I don’t do romantic relationships.” You peered up at him with squinting eyes, a sparkle of understanding in them. “But I’m guessing that that’s not really a problem for you, is it Cappy?”

He shook his head, feeling… a bit relieved actually. He’d have to look up the definition of “aro” when he got home (or maybe he’d just ask Tony, or Nat. They knew about all these new fangled terms the kids these days were using to define themselves), but it was a relief that you hadn’t been trying to get in his trousers, so to speak.

You shook your head, handing over the cup with a grin. He took it, tasted it, and grinned.

“Perfect. Like always.” He said with a grin, one that you returned wholeheartedly.

“Yeah, well, that’s ‘cause I made it.”


End file.
